


Writer's Month 2020

by loopyhoopyfrood



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Fluff, M/M, Magic, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25655512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loopyhoopyfrood/pseuds/loopyhoopyfrood
Summary: A series of prompt fills for my original fiction novel, The Last Damsel. Written for the Writers Month 2020 prompt challenge.Cedrix, a blunt, entitled prince, expects a damsel in distress. Instead he finds neither damsel, nor distress, but an endearingly useless wizard named Tim. Cedrix immediately gets down on bended knee, but is eventually convinced to settle for a compromise: dating. The only problem? Neither Cedrix nor Tim are entirely sure what dating is.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	1. Day One - Tattoo Artist / Flower Shop AU

As Cedrix slammed the shop door behind him, he swore to himself that this would be the last time he ever ran an errand for his cousin. From now on, she could fetch her own damn flowers.

Mind made up, he resigned himself to seeing which of the seemingly never-ending rota of female employees he’d be fending off today. He would cross his fingers, only he still hadn’t managed to decide who he hated least.

Kat was constantly bending over or shoving her chest in his face as if it would somehow make him miraculously less gay. Harper somehow managed to pickpocket his phone every time he visited, and he had quickly become sick of having to delete her number. Violetta was perhaps the worst of all. He’d shown up one day to find his name permanently etched inside a red heart on her arm, and he still couldn’t figure out who horrified him more. Violetta, for getting the tattoo, or his cousin Tiff for actually inking it.

The woman currently working the front desk had her back to him, and Cedrix could make out nothing beyond long black hair and ears that stuck out just slightly too far. Someone new then.

Sighing, Cedrix readied himself for another round of unwanted flirtation and strode up to the desk.

“Order for Tiff’s Tattoos.” He said, and waited.

And waited some more.

“Excuse me.” He snapped eventually, as the woman continued to ignore him in favour of singing to what frankly looked like a rather dead plant. She didn’t turn around.

“Are you actually planning on serving your customers, or do I need to call your manager?”

That got her attention. She jumped, dropping the plant she’d been warbling to, and turned around. She was smiling a far more genuine smile than Cedrix would expect from someone who worked customer service, and had a somewhat sad looking rose tucked into the front of her apron. She wore the same uniform as all the other women who worked there, with one major difference.

“You’re not a woman.”

“Nope,” The not-a-woman replied, “Sorry about that?”

“Oh heavens, don’t apologise.” Cedrix blurted out, stunned into a rare moment of honesty by the realisation of two very important facts. The first was that the new employee was a man. The second was that said man was _cute_.

So cute, in fact, that it was several long minutes before Cedrix’s brain caught up to the fact that he had actually said something.

“Pardon?”

“Welcome to Tower of Flowers!” The man – whose upside down nametag labelled him _Tim_ – repeated, “How can I help you?”

Somehow, even Tim’s voice was cute.

“I’m here for an order,” Cedrix somehow managed to say, “For Tiff’s Tattoos.”

“Right.” Said Tim. Cedrix waited, but Tim didn’t seem inclined to move.

“See the thing is,” He continued after a while, “It’s my first day, so I don’t actually know where we keep the orders.”

“Oh.” Said Cedrix.

“You could come back in an hour or so,” Tim suggested, “Kat or Harper should be in to cover the afternoon shift by then.”

Cedrix shuddered.

“I’d rather not wait.” He said, neglecting to mention exactly why he’d rather not. Before his brain could catch up enough to work out whether it was a good idea or not, he threw out a suggestion.

“Perhaps you could put something together for me.”

Tim’s face lit up. Within seconds he’d scampered out from behind the desk, knocking over two plant pots and a jar of pens on his way without even noticing. Gleefully, he danced around the small store, providing a constant stream of flora-related babble that Cedrix didn’t understand a word of as he picked flowers seemingly at random. Cedrix couldn’t say he’d ever seen that particular combination of colours before, but he barely noticed. Suddenly, the idea of future errands wasn’t seeming so terrible after all.

Twenty minutes later, Cedrix left the flower shop with the ugliest bouquet he’d ever laid eyes on, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

After all, all it had cost him was his phone number.


	2. Day Two - Quarantine

_Thump._

Tim opened one eye just in time to see his boyfriend throw himself onto the bed, making Tim’s side of the mattress bounce with the force of his landing. Whereas Tim was making the most of not having to change out of his nightgown, Cedrix was fully dressed, and there was a _clunk_ as his shoes hit the footboard.

“Urrrrggghhh.”

Tim rolled onto his side, taking Cedrix’s presence as an invitation. His arm snaked its way around his waist, a leg was thrown over his knees, and his head found it’s home in the curve of his neck. Cedrix automatically wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer.

“How in the heavens do you _enjoy_ this?” He asked.

“Hmm?” Tim hmm-ed, not understanding the question.

“This.”

Cedrix waved the arm that wasn’t holding Tim in place, a wide, sweeping gesture that seemed to encompass everything above them. Only…

“There’s nothing there?”

“Exactly!” Cedrix dropped his arm, leaving it to flop sadly off the side of the bed, “It’s unbearably _boring_.”

It had been a mere three weeks since the plague doctors had ordered the castle quarantined, and Cedrix was just about ready to lose his mind. The hallways and passages were a poor replacement for his beloved forests and hills, no matter how tastefully decorated, and it seemed he couldn’t take a single step without bumping into yet another grovelling villager who’d gratefully taken up his offer of a safe place to stay. The whole place was packed with people trying to escape the Black Death, although Cedrix was starting to suspect that most of them had just wanted to see what it was like to live inside a castle. If he had to deal with one more peasant who thought the rules didn’t apply to them, he was throwing them out the front gate himself. Perhaps the boils and gangrene would help them put wearing a face covering into perspective.

Tim, on the other hand, hadn’t even realised they’d been quarantined until two days ago.

Luckily for their current conversation, Tim was something of an expert on exactly two topics. The first was keeping oneself entertained whilst trapped inside. (Not that he’d been _trapped_ inside his tower all those years, it was just that _leaving_ had never occurred to him.) The second topic was Cedrix.

“I know what will cheer you up.” He said, raising himself up onto his elbow in order to see more of his boyfriend than just a span of neck and a bit of chin. Cedrix was looking back, already intrigued. He’d learnt early on in their relationship that although Tim’s idea’s might not always be safe, smart, or even remotely sensible, the one thing they weren’t was boring.

He wondered what Tim was about to suggest. Cedrix had instigated a firm ban on him trying to cure the plague with magic, an unintentional _curse_ was the last thing they needed right now, but that didn’t mean magic was off the table entirely. Tim had slowly (and by slowly, he meant a snail could probably lap their kingdom faster) been getting better at casting what he actually intended to cast, and just last week they’d passed a pleasant few hours seeing just how many crossbow bolts Tim’s glowing shields could withstand. And then another few trying to take down the shield that trapped them in the archery range.

Or perhaps Tim would suggest a turn around the castle grounds, if Cedrix didn’t mind wrapping a scarf around his nose and mouth. Bright colours were Tim’s ultimate weakness, and consequently he’d fallen in love with the royal gardens the moment he’d laid eyes on them. Cedrix himself had never paid that much attention to them, except as a shortcut to the training fields, but with Tim’s arm in his and his voice in his ear he found himself developing a new appreciation for the carefully designed rows and spirals of multi-coloured blossoms. He’d developed less of an application for the castle maze, after making the mistake of letting Tim lead the way. It had taken them four hours to find the centre, and even longer to make it back out again.

Maybe, if he was feeling particularly generous, Tim would suggest a game of chess. Chess was perhaps the only activity Cedrix enjoyed that could be done sitting down, and he’d been searching for years for a competent opponent. Not that Tim was a competent opponent. He was, however, unpredictable, and Cedrix was rather enjoying the challenge of forming a logical strategy against a competitor who occasionally forgot what colour he was playing.

Buoyed, and desperate for any respite from the mind-numbing boredom of quarantine, Cedrix waited eagerly for Tim’s suggestion. Tim smiled, and patted Cedrix’s arm.

“Do you want to go and hit things with your sword?”

“…”

“…”

“Yes.”


	3. Day Three - Magic

Tim, Cedrix had decided, wasn’t magic because he was a wizard.

His magic wasn’t in the stars he created from nothing, it was in his eyes as he watched those stars dance around their dimly-lit bedchamber, their twinkling light reflected in his irises.

Tim wasn’t magic because he was a wizard.

His magic wasn’t in the sparks he created with just a word, in was in his smile as those sparks caught, turning the carefully arranged mound of branches into a burning campfire.

Tim wasn’t magic because he was a wizard.

His magic wasn’t in the rain he created from thin air, it was in his laughter as he danced in the unintended downpour, numb to the dampness soaking into his bared skin.

Tim wasn’t magic because he was a wizard.

His magic wasn’t in the flowers he created with just a thought, it was in his kiss as he presented the conjured bouquet, offering the wilting blossoms as though they were the rarest of jewels.

Tim wasn’t magic because he was a wizard, and his magic wasn’t the reason Cedrix loved him.

Tim’s real magic was that he loved Cedrix in return.


	4. Day Five - Long-Distance Relationship

_For context, Cedrix and Tim previously came across a princess who had put herself under a sleeping curse, falsely believing only True Love's Kiss would wake her. Turns out all that was needed was a prince's saliva, but when she asked which of them had woken her, Cedrix panicked. It took them a week to return her to he father, a week in which "Prince Timothei" and "Sir Cedrix" were as obvious about their relationship as they could be. Princess Violetta didn't quite get it._

My dearest, Prince Timothei,

It has been mere hours since you departed my presence, and yet my heart aches for you already. Perhaps our week of travelling is to blame. I have become so accustomed to your presence, so constant that even as I slept I believed I could hear your soft laughter, that these hallways fall silent in your absence. My maid has not left my side since my return, so thankful is she to see me home safely, and yet I fear even her companionship cannot fill the hole that has been left within me.

My father has attempted to dissuade me from hope, but I know in my heart that your return is not a hope, but a certainty. Awakening me from my slumber has proven that you are my One True Love, and I know that neither of us could bear to be parted from each other for long.

You are so thoughtful, my love, wanting to prepare your kingdom for my arrival, but oh how I wish it were not necessary! I long to be by your side once again, and I shall be counting the days ‘til I am back at your side. Until then, we have our words, and I shall seal this letter with a kiss, imagining it to be your lips.

Hurry back, my darling,

Your Violetta

Prince Timothei, my heart,

It has been almost half a year since we were forced to part company, and I feel your absence as acutely as I did the day you left. I know you would not wish me wallow in my sadness, and so I have been keeping myself busy, and yet I cannot help but feel the lack of your presence as keenly as if a physical part of me were missing.

My maid does her best to keep my spirits up, and yet it is hard to remain cheerful with nought but the memory of you. I know there must be a reason you have not written me, my love, and yet what I would not give for even one word from your hand. Sometimes, in my weakness moments, I fear something terrible may have happened to you to prevent you from writing, but I know that cannot be true. We are connected, dearest, by True Love, and although I may be lacking in proof I know in my heart that I would feel it were some ill to befall you.

Men continue to approach my father seeking my hand, but I implore you, do not fear. I devoted myself to you the moment your kiss awakened me from my slumber, as I know you did me, and I shall continue to wait faithfully until fate conspires to allow us to be reunited.

Be safe, my dearest,

Your Violetta

My darling, Prince Timothei,

Oh, how my heart aches on your behalf, my love. For one long year I have longed for even a single word from your hand, and yet now it has arrived I cannot help but weep. For myself, yes, but also for you, my darling Timothei. I know your upcoming wedding must have been as much as a shock to you as it was to me, for I know you would not willingly turn your back on True Love and bind yourself so permanently to another.

My only hope is that your loyal knight, whom you must love dearly to allow him the honour of sharing your wedding day, might love you enough in return to aid you in your escape. I have no doubt that you are already taking steps, even as I write this, to ensure this wedding does not come to pass, and I only hope this letter arrives in time to ensure our plans align.

I will be waiting for you, my darling, at the tower where you first placed True Love’s Kiss upon my lips. My maid has already packed my things, and has promised to stay by my side as I wait for you to join me. I only ask that you let your intended bride down gently, although I am sure that, should you tell her the reason for your unwillingness, she would freely step aside in order that True Love may triumph.

Do not give up hope, my love,

Your Violetta

Prince Timothei, my beloved,

It is with tearful eyes and a broken heart that I pen this, my final letter to you. Please be assured, I bear you no ill will, for I am convinced you did all you could to come to me. I have always been told the course of True Love was not a smooth one, and yet somehow I had convinced myself that you and I could be the exception.

I held out hope even ‘til the last, my love, and it was only the dawning of the sun on the day you were to be wed that broke me from my watch. My maid held me as I cried, attempting to quell my pain with her soft words, but it seems comfort is hard to find in the face of such loss. Is it wrong of me to hope you also cried, my dearest, knowing you would never see your One True Love again?

But although we wish it wouldn’t, life continues, and as I prepare to return home I do so resigned to spending the rest of my days without you by my side. I shall never forget you, my love, and although it seems I cannot share it with you, I wish you a long and prosperous life. Live it for me, my heart, and remember me fondly.

Goodbye, my darling,

Your Violetta

Timothei, Prince Consort of Avonshire,

It has been a little under a year since I last penned you a letter, and so it would not surprise me should you fail to recognise my hand. It may even be too much to ask that you remember my face, as we shared merely one short week, all that time ago. Consequently, these words may, to you, seem unprompted, but it is my personal opinion that I have long owed you an apology.

It has been recently brought to my attention that a princess may find love elsewhere than in the arms of a prince. She may, for example, find that her true love has been by her side for far longer than she deserved, and has been serving her faithfully all these years, holding her as she cried over a prince who was, truthfully, nothing more than a fantasy.

Viewing our previous interactions in light of this realisation, it strikes me that I may have been somewhat naive to the exact nature of the relationship between yourself and your loyal knight. I wish to offer my sincerest apologies for the awkward situation I must have put you in, and only hope that my behaviour eventually proved nought but a source of amusement.

If you ever happen to pass this way again, I beg that you will consider this letter an open invitation to take advantage of my hospitality. I know my fathers would be pleased to see you again, and I promise you will have no reason to fear any romantic overtures. After all, I would not want my dearest maid to become jealous.

Wishing you and your husband the happiest of anniversaries,

Violetta Kaferyn Haizeal, Princess of Chesford


	5. Day Five - Soulmates

“Two? How can you have _two_ soulmates?”

Cedrix looked down at Tiff’s arms. The writing was messy, not quite legible yet, but it was definitely there. And it was definitely on both arms.

“Got two hands, don’t I?”

Tiff folded her arms, hiding the markings from Cedrix’s view. Cedrix huffed. His left arm was bare, but on his right sat the same kind of black scribbles as his cousin. His were a lot shorter than either of Tiff’s, but just as illegible.

“My soulmate is going to be better than both of yours put together.” He announced decisively.

“Nuh uh,” Tiff retorted, “My two are gonna be twice as good as your silly one.”

And that was when the fight started.

Later, as Cedrix plugged his bloody nose with the twisted corners of his handkerchief, and Tiff examined what was bound to be an impressive black eye in her hand mirror, Cedrix asked a question.

“Do you think he’ll like me?”

Tiff laughed, but then caught sight of Cedrix’s face. His brow was furrowed in the way it always did when he was worried, as if he were trying to carry the weight of the entire kingdom on his eight-year-old shoulders. And it wasn’t the _he_ part that was troubling him.

“Of course he will.” Tiff dropped to lie next to Cedrix on the floor. He didn’t seem reassured, so she elbowed him playfully in the side. “Though I dunno why. He’d have to be an idiot to like _you_.”

And that was when the fight started. Again.

As it turned out, Tiff was right.

(On both counts.)


	6. Day Five - Soulmates (Part Two)

Cedrix wasn’t sure how the secret had gotten out. A disgruntled nursemaid was to blame, perhaps, or a dissatisfied advisor, but gotten out it had. The entire kingdom now knew the name that decorated the prince’s arm, and by the heavens were they determined to take advantage of it.

The visiting dignitaries throwing their daughters at him had been one thing, but thanks to his loose-lipped employee Cedrix had become a fugitive in his own city. No matter how many knights he surrounded himself with, it seemed he could no longer take even a single step outside the castle gates without being mobbed by crowds of hysterical women, all claiming their name was Tim and waving legal documents that threatened to prove it.

Of course, the obvious option was to just not go outside. But when faced with a choice between the boredom of remaining safely indoors or being swarmed by an overwhelming amount of desperate, single women (surprisingly, ‘desperate’ and ‘single’ were not the main issue here) Cedrix had followed his usual path of action and gone with option C:

None of the above.

So far, his disguise appeared to be working. The plain brown cloak he’d borrowed from the stables was simultaneously the ugliest and least comfortable garment he’d ever worn, but it was a small price to pay for being able to walk through his city unaccosted. He kept the hood up as he weaved his way through the market, hiding his distinctive blond hair from view.

Unfortunately, Cedrix had forgotten two things. Firstly, that blond hair wasn’t actually all that uncommon, and so covering his head on such a warm summer’s day was actually making him _more_ suspicious. The second was that, although his hair might be covered, people could still see his face.

“Excuse me?”

Automatically, Cedrix turned. A petite young woman was staring up at him, and as he met her eye she gasped.

“It is you! Please forgive me, sire, I don’t mean to bother you, but I think I might be-”

Cedrix didn’t wait around to hear the end of that sentence. He already knew what she was about to say, and sure enough the words “your soulmate” had barely fallen from her lips before Cedrix was running, the now-useless hood flying behind him as he fled. The would-be soulmate was between him and the city gates, so he made for the castle, only to find his way already blocked by a quickly growing crowd of sharp-eared woman. Cursing, he dashed further into the market, slipping between two stalls and leaping over a vegetable cart. The spilled produce took out a few of his less steady pursuers, but the rest were far from deterred. With the merchant’s cries of _“my cabbages!”_ ringing in his ears, Cedrix sprinted into an alleyway.

Cedrix knew the city well, but there were, admittedly, some parts he knew better than others. The area he found himself in wasn’t one of those parts. Ideally, he’d stop and gather his bearings, but the hoard of women bearing down on him made this situation far from ideal. Consequently, when he finally rounded a corner and saw an open door, he didn’t even think.

The door slammed shut behind him. Cedrix pressed himself against it, holding his breath as the mob’s thundering footsteps bore down on him. The door wouldn’t hold them for long. Cedrix’s only hope was that he’d managed to duck inside before the leader of the prince-hungry pack had turned the corner.

For once, it seemed luck was on his side. Even so, Cedrix waited until the sound of clattering shoes and screams of longing had faded completely before he let himself breathe. Safe, for now, he finally took stock of where he was.

His haven turned out to be a small circular room, with stone walls and a worn wooden floor, and as Cedrix gazed upwards he realised it wasn’t a room after all but a tower, with thin slits for windows and a stone staircase that spiralled upwards. And at the top of the staircase, in front of a half-opened wooden door, a figure stood watching him.

“Hi!”

Cedrix instinctively tensed. The figure skipped down the stairs towards him, and Cedrix reached automatically for his sword before realising three things. Firstly, the figure didn’t seem angry at having their home invaded, but was instead looking at Cedrix with a bemused sort of smile. Secondly, and more importantly, they were unarmed. Thirdly, and most importantly of all, they weren’t a woman.

“Are you okay?” The man asked, “I was watching from my window. Those women seemed a bit aggressive.”

Thrown, Cedrix took a moment to answer. The state of his health wasn’t the question he’d expected from someone who’d just watched an entire battalion of woman chase a man through the city.

“I’m fine.” He said curtly, before remembering his manners.

“Prince Cedrix Adrian Tobius Cristafer of Avonshire.” He dropped his hand from the hilt of his sword, “Thank you for allowing me use of your home.”

The man reached the bottom of the stairs, and Cedrix waited for the bowing and simpering that was inevitable when one introduced themselves as royalty. To his utter surprise, the man did neither. Instead he grinned, a smile of pure joy that lit up his entire face, and held out his arm.

“Hi Cedrix! I’m Tim.”


	7. Day Six - Ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At one point in The Last Damsel, Cedrix and his companions have to sail through a patch of ocean inhabited by sirens. This is what was happening behind the scenes.

“Oi, look lively!” Telemea shouted from her post atop the highest rock, “We’ve got company!”

Groaning, Rhenore sat up, pulling her feet from the rockpool she’d been soaking them in. Reluctantly, she shook the sand from her wings, leaving Amadone to kick a snoring Nementhyia awake as she flapped up to see the approaching vessel for herself.

Sure enough, a small rowboat was heading their way. It was already close enough for Rhenore to make out four figures; three seated, one of whom was pulling and pushing on the oars with military perfect form. The fourth was standing, and if Rhenore squinted she could just about see-

“Ropes!” Telemea barked, kicking a shower of pebbles onto the two slowest members of their quartet, “Up and at ‘em you lazy ladies! Let’s get those voices warmed up now!”

As Telemea began to lead them all in a rousing round of _‘how much wood could a woodcutter cut’_ and the twins scrambled up to join in, Rhenore scowled at the approaching sailors. Just like a man to ruin what had been shaping up to be a perfect day.

The four of them had just started to question the woodcutter’s efficiency for the third time when the man tied to the boat suddenly pricked up his ears. Telemea held up a claw, and, with one final warbling note from Nementhyia, their warmup was over. It was time for the main event to begin.

“Alright girls, you know the drill.” Telemea paced in front of the three of them as they fell in line, Amadone arranging themself seductively on the ground whilst Rhenore struck a pose behind them, Nementhyia draped alluringly over her shoulder. Telemea would take up position at Rhenore’s other side just as soon as she finished her pep talk.

“I know we’ve been busy lately and you’re all desperate for a holiday-”

“She can say that again.” Nementhyia muttered.

“-But we have a reputation to uphold ladies! The quicker we lure this helpless man to his death the quicker you can all get back to enjoying your day off, got it?”

Rhenore, Amadone, and Nementhyia each mumbled a response.

“I can’t hear you!”

“Got it!”

“That’s better,” Telemea grinned, showing off her pointed teeth, “Do me proud, gals.”

Telemea slipped into position just as the rowboat passed the first of the pointed rocks, officially entering the sirens’ territory. Amadone started them off, their strong bass carrying the enticing melody across the waves. Nementhyia and Telemea joined in almost simultaneously, picking up the harmonies in their clear sopranos that echoed around the rocky outcrop. The man was already straining at his restraints.

With a sigh and a roll of her eerie yellow eyes, Rhenore joined in.


	8. Day Seven - Hurt/Comfort

Tim was crying when he got into bed that night.

“My book had a sad ending.” He sniffle-explained as he snuck under the blankets, shuffling himself as close as possible to his boyfriend. Cedrix, who had sat up the moment he’d heard the first sniff and had been preparing himself to wreck vengeance on whomever dared bring Tim to tears, sunk back into the pillows with relief. Not that he would have minded defending Tim’s honour, but he’d only just gotten comfortable.

“Why did you read it then?” He asked as Tim wriggled into his favourite position; head pillowed on Cedrix’s chest, arm wrapped tightly around his waist, their legs tangled together. Cedrix would have been concerned, but this was how Tim always slept.

“I didn’t know it was going to be sad.” Tim protested, hiccupping as he tried to talk and sob at the same time. Cedrix sighed, but pressed a kiss to his forehead nonetheless.

“What happened?”

“The princess sacrificed herself to save her best friend,” Tim sniffled, “And then the best friend had to step up and rule the kingdom without her. I though the princess wasn’t actually going to be dead, and I kept waiting for her to come back, but she didn’t.”

This was, apparently, enough to set an almost dried-eyed Tim off again. Still not entirely used to such open displays of emotion, and even less used to dealing with them, Cedrix rubbed comforting circles into Tim’s back and tried to distract him with what was, on reflection, not the cleverest of questions.

“Why did the princess have to sacrifice herself?”

And so Tim told him. Between the sobs and sniffles Cedrix managed to piece together at least a vague understanding of the plot that had gotten his boyfriend so upset. By the time Tim reached the peace treaty between the warriors and the warlocks Cedrix thought he was safe, but of course then came the sudden betrayal and resulting sacrifice, and suddenly Tim was crying even harder than before. Cedrix continued his hopefully soothing back rub, but the story hadn’t had had quite the emotional impact on him as it had the watery mess beside him.

“All that sacrifice would have been completely unnecessary,” He commented, half to himself, “Had the princess hired a competent military advisor.”

“Huh?” Said Tim, confused enough that he actually stopped crying.

“She clearly had no idea how to lead an army,” Cedrix explained, “If she had split the main body of her force into smaller battalions, only a fraction of her warriors would have been trapped when the information they had been sold turned out to be false.”

“Is that what would have happened if you’d written the story?” Tim asked, raising his head from Cedrix’s chest with intrigue. 

“I don’t write stories.”

“If you’d been the princess then.”

Cedrix thought about it.

“No,” He answered after a moment, “I would have avoided the war entirely.”

“That sound nice.” Said Tim, giving a final sniff, “Tell me about it?”

“Only if you promise not to cry.”

He looked down at Tim with faux sternness. Tim managed a wobbly grin.

“I won’t cry,” He promised, snuggling back down on top of Cedrix and pulling the blankets tighter around them, “I know you’ll give me a happy ending.”

Cedrix could hardly refuse after that. Gently, he pressed one final kiss to the top of Tim’s head, and cleared his throat.

“Once upon a time,” He began as Tim closed his eyes, “There lived a princess…”


	9. Day Eight - Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note to say this ended up a lot angstier than I expected, so if couples almost-arguing isn't your thing, feel free to skip this chapter.

“Cedrix!! Guess what I found!”

“Hmm?” Cedrix looked up from the sword he’d been slowly polishing, quickly moving the blade out of the way as his husband bent down to kiss him hello. Tim had something hidden behind his back, and was practically bouncing with excitement. 

“What?”

“Guess!”

Despite his insistence, Cedrix suspected Tim would be at least slightly disappointed were he to guess correctly. Luckily, he had absolutely no idea.

“I have no idea.” He said.

“Tada!”

With a flourish, Tim whipped out the mystery object. Cedrix leant back before it could hit him in the face.

“The Hermits Guide to Friendship,” He read, “ _Volume Eight?_ ”

“Isn’t it great!” Said Tim, flopping down beside Cedrix. Cedrix only just managed to move his sword out of the way in time. “I thought they’d stopped making them.”

“So did I.” Muttered Cedrix.

Usually, Tim’s enthusiasm was infectious. This was not one of those times.

“So much for C-J’s retirement.” He scoffed, returning his attention to his blade and refusing to look up as Tim began to leaf through the pages. Why Tim was so enamoured with that ridiculous book he couldn’t fathom.

He continued running his sword over the whetstone, annoyed at Tim for breaking his concentration. Of course, the real reason he was annoyed was the fact that Tim apparently though their marriage was going so spectacularly badly that he felt the need to seek out advice from a proven charlatan, and Cedrix was well aware of this. Consequently, he did what he always did when faced with his own insecurities.

He stubbornly ignored it.

“I think this is a different CJ,” Tim was saying, “The writing style is different.”

Well, it was nice to know Cedrix hadn’t given Tim’s tower away in vain. Although if whoever had replaced Diago as _CJ Themir_ ever wanted an out, Cedrix was staying well away.

Tim continued to read. Cedrix continued to pretend he wasn’t sulking. Eventually, however, he couldn’t resist a sarcastic quip.

“Any good advice?”

Impervious to Cedrix’s bad mood, Tim was his usual cheerful self as he replied.

“Of course not.”

Cedrix could have told him that without even opening the cover.

“Perhaps you should ask for your money back.” He sneered, well aware that he was trying to start an argument and equally as aware that Tim wouldn’t rise to it. Somehow, that just made him more annoyed.

Sure enough, Tim just giggled.

“I didn’t buy it for the advice, silly.”

Cedrix just grunted, then almost cursed as Tim’s hand reached for his own. Usually this would have be fine, but usually Cedrix wasn’t holding a razor sharp blade.

“Careful!” He snapped, jerking the sword, and his hand, out of Tim’s reach. Still refusing to look at his husband he abruptly stood, stepping around the whetstone to place the weapon back on the rack. He was still angry. He pretended it wasn’t at himself.

“Ceddy?”

Even the childhood nickname wasn’t enough to get Cedrix to turn around. His insistence on ensuring the sword he’d returned was perfectly straight wasn’t fooling anyone. Least of all himself.

“Why _did_ you buy the damned thing?” He muttered, only half intending Tim to hear him. The armoury’s echo made the decision for him, sending his words reverberating around the suddenly too silent room.

Even so, Tim’s reply was barely audible.

“It reminded me of how we met.”

Guilt wasn’t a sensation Cedrix was familiar with, but he felt it now. He’d heard the tremble in Tim’s voice, and suddenly he hated himself. Truthfully, his anger was at himself, terrified that he hadn’t been a good enough husband, and he’d been heartless enough to turn that anger on Tim.

If he could do that, maybe he wasn’t a good husband after all.

All the fight drained out of him. He returned to Tim’s side on autopilot, not looking up even after he sat down, instead staring at his hands without seeing them. It was only when he felt a hesitant squeeze that he even realised Tim had slowly laced their fingers together.

“Ceddy?”

“I’m sorry.” They were usually the hardest words for Cedrix to say, but now they were easy. Almost too easy.

“I’m sorry.” He said again. They still weren’t enough.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” Cedrix’s head snapped up. Tim was watching him with a caution that broke Cedrix’s heart, eyes watery and lips trembling.

“No.” Cedrix repeated, and in an instance his anger was back. This time, it was directed exactly where it belonged. At himself.

“No,” He said again, stronger this time, “I was being a prat.”

Startled, Tim let out a watery laugh. Taking a risk, Cedrix squeezed his hand. Tim squeezed back.

Suddenly Cedrix found himself wanting to talk, to explain to Tim everything he feared and everything he was insecure about. To explain that he’d never once imagined himself being loved by someone so incredible, and that there were times he never thought he’d be worthy of it. To explain his fears that one day Tim would look at him and see all his imperfections, and decide he just wasn’t worth it anymore. To explain that seeing that book had reminded him just how little he knew about relationships, and just how scared he was that one day he would screw up so irreparably that he’d lose Tim forever.

He wanted to explain all of this. 

He didn’t know how.

Somehow, Tim understood it anyway.

“You can be a prat,” He agreed, and this time it was Cedrix that laughed even as he cried, “But I love you anyway. Just like how I can be clumsy and unsafe and you love me anyway.”

“It’s easy to love you.” Cedrix sniffed. At some point the two of them had gravitated toward each other, and now Cedrix closed the gap, resting his forehead against his husband’s. He felt tears on his cheeks. They could have been his, or they could have been Tim’s. It was impossible to tell.

“It’s never easy to love someone,” Tim countered, so close Cedrix could feel the words as he spoke them, “But it’s worth it. And we don’t need a book to tell us what to do when things go wrong.”

He gave Cedrix’s hand one final squeeze.

“We’ll just work it out together.”


	10. Day Nine - Illness

“Is this completely necessary?”

Or at least, that was what Cedrix had intended to say. Thanks to the piece of medical equipment that had been unceremoniously shoved into his mouth, it came out more like _“mff thff cmplteh nfffsehry’_.

“My apologies, sire,” The healer’s apprentice stammered, not understanding a word Cedrix was trying to say but figuring it was better to be safe than sorry, “Only with all the assassination attempts recently, we do need to make sure this isn’t the early symptoms of a curse.”

Cedrix wouldn’t exactly call one half-rate hitman with shoddy aim and a couple of would-be poisoners who’d laced his breakfast with ground chalk instead of arsenic _assassination attempts._ Not compared to the renegade knight who’d climbed through Cedrix’s bedroom window on the prince’s fifth birthday and had to be taken out with a couple of toy horses and a nightshirt, but it seemed his staff were unrelenting in their over-caution. Hence a few days of sniffles and sneezes had led to Cedrix’s chambers being overrun with the castle’s entire rota of medical and magical experts.

And since they were all too high and mighty to stick an arcane thermometer in his mouth themselves, they’d also brought their apprentices.

“Are curses bad?”

Tim didn’t sound overly worried. If anything, he sounded almost excited by the prospect. Cedrix wouldn’t have minded, but being able to ease Tim’s fears was the only reason he’d given in to this needless examination in the first place.

“Yes.” A different apprentice replied. This one was hitting Cedrix’s knees with a small hammer, although what that had to do with his sneezes Cedrix couldn’t fathom. At least the thermometer was finally being taken out of his mouth.

“Although how bad depends on who cast the curse,” The hammer-wielding apprentice continued, giving Cedrix’s knee another tap and watching it jerk violently, “Older magic users tend to stick to traditional curses; eternal sleep, physical distortions, animal shape, that sort of thing. Nasty, but the advantage of traditional curses is that we’re aware of the traditional cures.”

“Oh, oh, I know this one,” Tim, for some reason, raised his hand, “True Love’s Kiss!”

Grinning, he kissed Cedrix’s cheek. Cedrix rolled his eyes.

“Well will you look at that,” He declared, “I’m cured.”

“Really?”

“No.”

As if prove his point, Cedrix sneezed.

“There’s also the reformists.” Apprentice #2 hid a smile as she continued, “Mostly younger magic users who caught on to how quickly traditional curses were being cured and tried to come up with alternatives, with varying degrees of success. They don’t always take, but those that do are the hardest to break, because the cure could be literally anything.”

“But,” Said Tim, with the expression that meant he was really struggling to understand something, rather than just his usual constant level of mild confusion, “Why would someone want to curse Cedrix?”

“Tim, we’ve been over this,” Cedrix quickly said before either of the apprentices thought they were supposed to answer him and started to panic, “Being a prince sometimes puts me in danger, but I have no intention of dying anytime soon. Unless, of course, I am to be crushed to death by this inane crowd of doctors.”

Apprentice #3, who had been slowly approaching Cedrix with a medical instrument that frankly looked more dangerous than the entirety of the castle armoury, quickly pretended they hadn’t been doing that after all and, whistling, backed away.

“You promise?”

Tim’s eyes were wide, bottom lip trembling, and Cedrix melted.

“I promise to remain alive,” He said, pulling his arm away from apprentice #? to gently cup Tim’s face, “Besides, if there is an assassin out there competent enough to curse me, I have no doubt that you will be able to break it.”

Slowly, he drew Tim closer. Ignoring the room full of magicians, medical experts, and apprentices, he closed his eyes, pressed his lips gently against his husband’s…

And sneezed.


	11. Day Ten - Bunnies

When Tiff and her spouses finally found the time to visit Cedrix, it wasn’t really him they came to see. In all honesty, Cedrix couldn’t really blame them.

“Where is he?” Tiff demanded the moment the obligatory hugs and cheek kisses were out of the way, “Don’t tell me he’s gotten tired of you already?”

Had the comment come from anyone else, Cedrix would have been offended. As it were, he just rolled his eyes.

“He’s somewhat preoccupied,” He explained as he led them through the castle, ensuring his hands were in Joaquinne’s eyeline and avoiding any passageways too narrow for Alyce’s wheelchair, “We have a new pet, courtesy of Tim’s magic.”

It was difficult to tell whose gasp of delight was louder. Cedrix, who had prepared himself for this exact possibility, resigned himself to being their third favourite family member. Although whether their new pet would succeed in beating Tim to the top spot was yet to be seen.

“What is it?” Tiff immediately asked.

“What’s its name?” Alyce added.

“How cute is it?” Joaquinne signed simultaneously.

Cedrix just shrugged.

“See for yourselves.”

Preparing himself, he pushed open the door, and immediately winced at the chorus of squeals from the two girls. Joaquinne wasn’t squealing, but he was flapping his hands excitedly in front of his face, which was basically the same thing.

At first glance, the room seemed to be filled with _fluff_. A closer look, and one might be able to make out features amongst the fluff; paws big enough to crush a man, a large pink nose that twitched nervously, two dark round eyes each bigger than a person’s head, and a pair of long, floppy ears.

If one looked even closer they might even make out a figure amongst the giant rabbit’s fur.

“Hi!” Said Tim, extracting an arm to wave hello, “I might be stuck.”


	12. Day Eleven - Light

It’s only as Cedrix walks past the guest room that he realises there’s a light on, and it’s only as he realises there’s a light on that he hears the scream.

In one smooth movement he’s drawn his sword and thrown open the door, ready for whatever lies behind.

Or not, as it turns out.

Four lumpy faces turn to stare at him. The adrenalin coursing through his body means it takes him a moment, but it dawns on him that, despite the slathering of mud and disturbingly flowery headscarves obscuring their features, he knows these faces.

Joaquinne is perched in front of the unlit fireplace, hands paused mid-air as if he’d been interrupted part way through a sentence and face lit eerily from below by Tiff, seated next to him holding a flickering candle to his chin. Their faces are both covered in a sickly green paste, and, for some reason, they’re wearing matching nightclothes.

Opposite them, across an ocean of nail polish, candied fruit, and empty wine bottles, are Alyce and Tim. They’re clutching each other, also in nightgowns, Tim raised up on his knees to properly cling to Alyce, who’s trembling on the edge of her wheelchair. From the little Cedrix can see of the expressions beneath their muddy masks, he’d make a confident guess that the scream came from one of them.

All four of them stare at him. Cedrix stares back for just a moment, before abruptly turning right around and letting the door swing shut behind him.

Whatever’s going on in there, Cedrix really doesn’t want to know.


	13. Day Fourteen - Metamorphosis

Cedrix gasped as his soul slammed back into his body, sending him staggering backwards with the force of the metaphysical impact. A moment to steady himself, then he was back in control, glancing down at himself to ensure whatever had been controlling him in his absence had left him in one piece. On the one hand, all his limbs did seem to be present and accounted for. On the other hand, he was almost certain he didn’t used to have that many freckles.

A noise behind him meant he didn’t have time to wonder, and Cedrix quickly spun around, only to stumble as his limbs failed to behave as he ordered them to. At first he attributed it to the residual effects of spending the past few hours as a floating, incorporeal head, but that was before he caught sight of the figure walking clumsily towards him.

The blond haired, blue eyed figure wearing an all too familiar purple tunic. 

“Come no further.” He ordered, reaching instinctively for his sword. Only, there was no sword. Even more worryingly than that, something awful had happened to his voice.

“Identify yourself.” He commanded, although with his voice lacking its usual gravitas he didn’t sound nearly as authoritative as he’d like. On the plus side, he’d finally found a weapon tucked into the back of his belt, although as he pulled it out he found it was a far cry from the finely crafted, perfectly weighted sword he was used to. Still, a rough knife was better than nothing.

“It’s me?” The thing wearing Cedrix’s face said, with a note of confusion that Cedrix thought he could almost recognise, “Tim?”

“Try again.” Cedrix pointed the knife as threateningly as he could manage. He found himself having to crane his neck upwards to meet the gaze of the thing before him, which only served to cement his suspicions that something was definitely Wrong. “You dare claim to be the man I love whilst wearing my own face? Tell me who you are or I shall strike you down where you stand.”

“Ceddy?” The fake Cedrix said, and as hard as the real one tried to deny it there was something distinctly Tim-like about the way it titled his head, “Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me,” Cedrix snapped, “Who else would I be?”

“Oh.” The thing claiming to be Tim ran a hand through its hair, only to look at its hand in confusion as it reached the nape of its neck, as if it had expected there to be more hair than there actually was.

“It’s just,” The not-Cedrix continued, looking back at actual-Cedrix, “You look a lot like If.”

“ _What?_ ”

Cedrix immediately checked his reflection in the blade of his knife. It was hard to make out, but a quick hand through his hair confirmed it was a lot longer, curlier, and browner than he’d expected, a more thorough examination of his arms proved his skin was a lot darker and freckle-covered than he was used to, and a calculating glance at the trees surrounding them suggested he was a lot shorter than he should have been. A quick rifle through his pockets and the resulting discovery of a worryingly high number of knives was the final nail in the coffin.

“ _What?!_ ”

Before Cedrix had chance to truly express his utter horror, further proof of the Wrongness arrived in the shape of two very familiar figures. Tim, or at least Tim’s body, was walking with a stiffness Cedrix wouldn’t have thought him possible of, as if he were trying to move as little as physically possible. Beside him walked Sir Swordasome, grinning in a way that was utterly unfamiliar and consequently extremely disturbing.

“Sire,” Began not-Tim, bowing awkwardly to the figure he assumed was his prince, “I believe-”

“I’m Tim,” Not-Cedrix/real-Tim interrupted, “That’s Cedrix.”

Not-Cedrix’s arm pointed at real-Cedrix. If Cedrix had thought seeing himself was strange, seeing himself _smile_ was infinitely stranger. He hadn’t even known his face was capable of doing that.

“My apologies, Sire.” Not-Tim bowed again, this time in the right direction. He opened his mouth to speak again, but someone else got there first.

“Wait,” Not-Sir Swordasome giggled, and if Cedrix had been the type of man to go into hysterics he had no doubt it would have been _that_ which sent him over the edge, “Does that mean I’m a prince? This is so cool!”

Cedrix ardently disagreed.

“You are no more a prince than I a squire.” He declared, ignoring the way real-If giggled at the sound of his words in her voice and turning to the man he assumed to be his knight. He was briefly struck by the way the eyes of his boyfriend looked at him, impassionate and impersonal, but quickly filed away the unexpected hurt. They had more important problems.

“Sir Swordasome,” He said, “What is this?”

“It appears, Sire, that our… souls,” Real-Sir Swordasome hesitantly replied, his discomfort with talk of such matters evident both in his tone, and the religious symbol he unconsciously traced over his heart, “May not have returned to the correct physical form.”

“I know that,” Real-Cedrix snapped, “How do we fix it?”

“I- I am not sure, Sire. Perhaps-”

Whatever real-Sir Swordasome was about to say next was abruptly cut off as he gasped, and suddenly Cedrix was being yanked from the body he’d been inhabiting. For a brief moment he could see the four of them, standing below him, and he did his best to angle himself towards his own body as he was slammed back down, gasping and stumbling as he regained physical form once more.

Immediately, he looked down. His skin was pink, his clothes were familiar, and his sword was on his belt. A quick glance up confirmed his suspicions, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well,” He said, “It appears whatever that was sorted itself out.”

“Not really,” Tim’s voice said cheerfully, as his head looked around with curiosity, “So this is what it’s like to be tall.”

Not-Tim/real-If took a step backwards, and immediately banged her head on a tree branch. Cedrix turned to his two remaining companions.

“Wow.” Probably-not-Sir Swordasome was saying, lifting a foot experimentally only for it to clatter back down again, “This armour is heavy. How do you carry it all?”

“I am used to it.” Real-Sir Swordasome answered. If’s face didn’t give anything away, but Cedrix would bet the knight wasn’t best pleased to be stuck inside the body of his squire.

“Well at least one of us is returned to normal,” Cedrix said, not bothering to hide his relief that he was the one of them he was referring to, “However, the question remains, how do we go about fixing the three of you?”

He was looking at not-If as he said this, but to his surprise it was not-Sir Swordasome/real-Tim who answered.

“If I guessed,” He said, pulling Sir Swordasome’s sword curiously from its sheath and immediately dropping it, “I’d say that due to the instability of the protoplasm that our disembodied souls are composed of-”

Another yank, another few seconds of floating, and another stumble, this time in a body encased in armour. Cedrix cursed, only to be drowned out as Tim’s voice carried on where Sir Swordasome’s had left off.

“-it’s likely that we’ll keep switching physical forms until our protoplasmic souls align with the correct bodies.”

Cedrix stared disbelievingly at Tim with Sir Swordasome’s eyes. Tim just grinned.

“Oh hey, I’m me again!”

“Me too!” If echoed, holding her freckled arms out in front of her as if to double check. Cedrix shared a look with his own body.

“Sire-” His own voice began, but that was as far as Sir Swordasome got before that frustratingly familiar pulling sensation struck again, sending Cedrix’s soul flying into the air once more. As he plummeted back down again, heading for who knew who, he quickly calculated the odds, and let out an ethereal groan.

It looked like they were going to be here a while.


	14. Day Seventeen - Cooking

The sun has long set by the time they manage to destroy their tent.

Thankfully, the wood they’d been in the middle of gathering is still dry, and even in the darkness it isn’t long before the four of them are huddled around a small campfire. Cedrix sets about methodically skinning the cluster of rabbits he’d shot along the road as Tim settles beside him, looking less sheepish than he probably deserves as he pokes the crackling twigs with his wand. Cedrix considers saying something, but figures Tim will figure out the wands’ flammability sooner or later.

Across from them, Sir Swordasome sits with his sword across his knee, staring into the flames as if he expects the snarling, fanged mockery of a tent to rise from the ashes. If is already asleep on the ground next to him, twitching in her slumber as she no doubt dreams of defeating Tim’s next failed enchantment single-handedly.

With practiced movements, Cedrix spears the rabbits and leans forward to set them above the fire, feeding a few more sticks into the flames before leaning back again. He can hear Tim’s breath next to him, blowing frantically on the end of his singed wand. With a sigh, Cedrix takes it off him and generously smothers the predicted sparks with a corner of his bed roll. He slips it back inside the wizard’s sleeve as Tim leans into him, moulding himself to the shape of Cedrix’s side. That Cedrix lets him speaks volumes.

Tim begins to talk, about nothing and everything, and Cedrix lets the words wash over him. He glances over at the other two members of his party, automatically scanning for visible injuries, and finds nothing but Sir Swordasome’s haunted wariness. Tim shivers, and Cedrix unthinkingly pulls him closer. It’s as he reaches for a blanket to wrap around them that he finds himself struck by a sudden revelation.

No castle in the kingdom could ever make him feel as at home as he does right now.


End file.
